Escape
by StardustSage
Summary: Victory begins to feel like defeat. So what do you do when you're caught in your own trap? Well, it should be obvious. Eventually, ZADR, M for a drug reference


Victory.

This was it.

Dib had been given his own sector of Membrane Labs to study his alien specimen. A glass tube, filled with liquid to store him in. Enough tranquilizers to keep him asleep forever, if needed. All the press he needed to gain national fame. Apologies from everyone he'd even been doubted by. Enough money to live the rest of his life in leisure. His father's acceptance. Everything he had ever wanted.

Dib had won.

But.

Dib had always hated that. The intake of breath on the end of a sentence that meant, 'oh, and one more thing'. That hesitant pause in the congratulations. The lonely nights at his desk. This was victory, but.

Dib was finally in control of his own life, and of the future of Earth. But.

Dib was finally respected for his genius, his abilities, and his determination. But.

Victory comes with a price.

For Dib, it was Zim. He never managed to dissect the alien. He knew that it would be useless to try without knowing what they did first. A live alien was much more informational than a dead one. He could study the biorhythms of Irken life. The chemical reactions. How cells grow and divide. How the PAK fit into the body so well. So, Zim stayed alive. And Dib hated him for it.

It would have been easier, he tried to reason with himself, to just forget everything if Zim were dead. If the alien was gone, he could have moved on. He could have proved Bigfoot, vampires, anything. But now, he was stuck with Zim. And Zim couldn't even fight back.

It had been too late when Dib realized what he felt. After all, he couldn't just wake Zim up again. So, he would have to find something new to chase. That was all he really wanted. A chase, a fight, a struggle. Victory had been sweeter than he could have imagined, for a while. And then he was knee-deep in paperwork, monitoring the chemical changes in the tube, and stuck in the lab all day.

He wanted to move. He wanted to do. This was victory, but it felt like misery. Drudgery. Defeat. He was a slave to the hands of the clock, and only Zim kept him any real company. Sometimes, if he was the only scientist in the room, he would talk to Zim. Pretend he could talk back. Dib would whisper to himself, "I'll get you, Dib, I'll get you good when I break out of this," and he would reply to himself, "You've already lost, alien scum."

And for a few minutes he was happy. For a while he could pretend that Zim was really talking back to him, and that he really would break out again. And that he would have to stop the alien, fighting him at every turn. A hero, not just the man who discovered him. A fighter, not just a coffee drinking, tie wearing, pencil pushing lab-slave. He wanted things to go back to the way they were. Before. When he had something to live for, not something to live because of. He was losing his mind in that office.

It took a while for him to think of a plan. Over time, the security around Dib's section got loose. After all, a sleeping alien couldn't escape. So, eventually, after about a year, and after all the hype had settled down and everyone was back to wondering what was on TV that night instead of wondering what was out there, Dib could be alone with Zim. Every night, if he chose.

He had memorized the coding to all of the containment tubes programs. He had Zim's tranquilizers on a set schedual. The night before, he went out and left an assistant on the watch. Part of him couldn't believe what he was about to do. Most of him was more than ready. He decided he needed to calm his nerves. Have one last night of fun.

He only remembered the first few drinks. A bad habit. He hated himself for it, but.

But.

He woke up at a strange girls apartment. He went into the kitchen, made coffee. He wanted something bitter. Blacker than black. She walked in and offered him a joint. Some breakfast.

He came into work at noon, still a bit red-eyed and his hands still twitching from the coffee. He couldn't care less. Tranquilizers needed to be administered. He took up the task himself. Watered it down and put it at about half-dose.

Paperwork that day was torture. He kept feeling for the knife in his pocket and checking the glass-breaker in his drawer. Membrane stopped by for his monthly visit. Dib was happy to hide behind his glasses for that. It was mostly "yes, I'm doing fine" and "nothing new to report", but he didn't want his guilt to betray him. Then it was back to paperwork. Twilight sifted through the windows. It was the start of winter. Cold. Dib loves the cold.

It got late. Everyone went home. Dib told the graveyard-shift assistant to take the night off. He took his knife into the stasis room. Zim's room. After that weak half-dose, he had administered no more tranquilizers. Already he could see Zim's lids fluttering above his pinkish eyes. Not fully awake yet. But.

He took the knife to his lab coat. Shreds of fabric fell to the floor. Then he took it to himself. Enough blood to make it look realistic. He cut the palm of his hand and dragged it along the wall. A desperate struggle must have happened here, he thought with a grin.

He hooked his laptop up to the containment tube and began to manipulate the code. In five minutes every alarm was disabled. Now, the tricky part. Zim was still just barely awake. He paused. This is the last moment of your life, he thought to himself. Accept that. Be okay with it. After this, the Dib that everyone knows must be dead and gone. Their Dib can be no more. I have to do this to escape, to be happy. He thought to himself for longer than eh should have, for Zim's eyes were all the way open when he snapped out of it.

Dib stared into the tube, then took the glass-breaker in his hand. He tapped, leaving a chip in the glass. Then, with all his might, he swung.

The glass shattered, liquid gushing out and soaking Dib to the bone. Zim dangled by his life support tubes. In an instant, Dib had disconnected the alien and picked him up by the waist. "No time to explain now," Dib said. "I'm getting you out."

* * *

A/N: There's the prologue. Now, who wants to turn this into a hell of an RP with me? Go ahead and contact me if you're interested.


End file.
